Harold Baffington Pendulum Steed possessed everything he ever would need. A bowl, a pencil, an owl, and a bead, a long thin potato and a spiced pumpkin seed, and a river of gold nurtured the greed of Harold Baffington Pendulum Steed.

Prindelilah Hastings never was in sight. She hid all day under hay and crept out in the night. She always carried a jar of tar and a stick with which to write, ‘Prindelilah Hastings was here! Oh yes! That’s right!’

We are the cranberries 3 Not one of us has a knee We live in a log not far from the bog And dine on peppermint tea – We are the cranberries 3 You won’t find us climbing a tree We roll all around the nice soggy ground The finest of berries are we, are […]

A little man dressed in green played upon a tambourine. He slipped near the edge, took a tumble and a fall, crawled under the door and into the hall. He was oh so tiny. He was oh so small. There’s no more to tell. It’s over. That’s all.

That wall of fog with fingers is the wily labbimist. Shun its cloudy twinings. On this I must insist. For if it should enfold you in its milky sightless seep captured there forever you’ll be lost like Bo Peep’s sheep.

Reach for the ceiling Reach for the floor Reach for the window next to the door Reach for the sky Reach for the sea Reach for the bird on the top of that tree Reach for the dog Reach for the cat Reach for your money and put it in my hat